


Love's Lost Refrain

by EarendilElwing



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Grief, Loss, Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilElwing/pseuds/EarendilElwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I said that I DON'T sing, not that I couldn’t.  There’s quite a difference.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! This is one of two stories that were inspired by the same concepts. The first was a lack of stories that explore any musical ability that Bilbo might have. It was also sparked when I reread “The Nightingale” by Hans Christian Andersen, though it was more of an inspiration than any sort of retelling.
> 
> This story will be a combination of book and movie events.
> 
> You'll also notice that in some stories I used "Dwarves" and in others "Dwarrows". Both are technically correct, as far as I know. I just use whatever makes the most sense in the context of the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction - The opening section of a piece of music or movement

Bella’s jaw dropped as Fili and Kili danced around the fire, their fingers flying across the strings of their fiddles at a furious pace.  She’d seen and heard them play before, but never like this.  It was like watching one of their many duels, but this time, they were using instruments as their weapons instead of swords or fists.  They stared each other down with identical smirks upon their lips, silently challenging the other to keep up as they stomped their feet and played ever faster.  

After several minutes, their song came to an abrupt end.  They lowered their fiddles and bowed their heads in salute to one another.

Bella set a sewing needle and her trousers aside and applauded with the rest of the dwarves, thoroughly entertained by the impromptu music performance.  On either side of her were Dori and Ori, and they likewise ceased working on their own projects in order to praise the Durin princes.

“That was amazing!” Bella cheered.  

The boys beamed at her and bent into low, sweeping bows.  “Thank you!” they cried in unison.

Fili set his fiddle back upon his shoulder.  “This is the first clear night we’ve had in awhile.  We thought it best to take advantage of it and have some fun before we hit bad weather again.”

Kili mirrored his brother with his own instrument and lifted his brows at Bella.  “I’m surprised you liked the song, Miss Boggins.  From the way you reacted at your house, I thought maybe you didn’t like music.”

Bella snorted and shook her head.  “I love music, actually.  I simply prefer that you leave my dishes out of it, that’s all.”

Fili and Kili just grinned at her while the rest of the dwarves chuckled.  Dori was the only one who seemed to sympathize with her a little.

Across from her in the circle, on the other side of the bonfire, Nori pulled out his flute.  “Shall we play something else?” he asked.

“A song and dance,” Bofur suggested.  He jumped to his feet and came closer to the center of their gathering.  He launched into a pleasant tune that seemed to be well known among the dwarves, as a few of them joined with harmonies.  Fili, Kili, Nori, Bifur, and Bombur took up their instruments to play the accompaniment while the rest got up to move.

Balin approached Bella and held out a hand.  “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Baggins?” he asked with a kindly smile.  

“I’d be delighted, Master Balin,” she beamed.  She allowed him to pull her up and lead her to the circle.

To her delight, the steps were very easy to pick up.  She was a fair dancer anyway, and very good at following, so it only took a verse for her to gain confidence.  She stayed with Balin for the duration of that song, and traded off with others for the next few.

It had grown extremely dark by the time everyone was weary and ready to bed down for the night.  Bella excused herself for a moment to take care of some personal business before sleep.  When she returned, nearly everyone was either curled up in their bedrolls or completing a few final nighttime ablutions.  She sat down just in time to hear Kili pose a question to Thorin.

“Will you sing for us before we sleep, Uncle?” he asked.  As always, he had set his own blankets and possessions next to his brother’s.

Bella perked up with hope, glancing over at Thorin as discretely as possible.  He and Gandalf were the only ones that hadn’t joined in the merriment, but he had been watching with interest and appeared to be more at ease than usual.

To her great disappointment, Thorin declined.  She loved his voice best of all, and the captivating quality of it that stirred her heart to waken after so long of living in stagnation.  She almost imagined that there was a magic to it, capable of inspiring loyalty and bravery in even the meekest of creatures.

She really hadn’t stood a chance against him.  She’d follow him anywhere if only he’d sing for her.  That he had the remarkably good looks to match his beautiful voice was entirely unfair.

She supposed that his dour and arrogant personality evened things out.

“How about it, lass?”

“I’m sorry, what?”  Bella had become lost in thought and failed to hear Dori speaking to her.  She was disconcerted to find that all eyes had turned towards her.

“I suggested that _you_ sing, my dear Bella,” Gandalf called over.  “It’s been far too long since I last heard a song from you.”

Bella flushed.  “O-oh.  I-I couldn’t,” she stammered.

“Nonsense!” Bofur objected cheerfully.  “No need to be shy.”

“I’m not shy,” she retorted.  “I just… don’t sing.”

Bombur plopped down on his own bedroll near to hers.  “Oh come now, Miss Baggins.  I've heard you humming along to our music sometimes.  You’ve a perfectly lovely voice.”  He and his kin were oblivious to her meaning.

“She was the talk of the Shire when she was a tween,” the wizard added.

Bella leveled a glare at him.  “Not helping, Gandalf,” she hissed.

Ori looked at her with pleading eyes.  “Oh please, you must!  I’d love to hear a hobbit song.”  He reached for his journal, eager to take notes.

Bella crossed her arms.  “I’m terribly sorry, Ori, but the answer is no,” she declared, feeling rather cross, mostly at Gandalf for initiating the conversation.  “I don’t sing, and that’s final.  Now if you don’t mind, I’m very tired and would like to get some sleep.”  She crawled into her bedroll and turned her body away from the dwarves.  She pulled her blanket up over her head and tried, in vain, to ignore the ensuing murmurs in Khuzdul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	2. Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overture - introduction to an opera or other large musical work

Thorin woke after only a few hours of sleep and was immensely irritated by it.  There were very few nights he didn’t place himself on the guard rotation, but whenever he did take time off (usually at Dwalin’s insistence), he relished every second of rest afforded him.  He was by no means a heavy sleeper, but neither was he a morning person, and he never found it easy to go back to sleep once he was awake.

Knowing that it was useless to even try, he decided to relieve whomever was currently on duty and think on their plans some more.  The Misty Mountains would likely pose an enormous challenge, and that was without considering the possibility of facing the goblins that were rumored to frequent them.  In addition, Gandalf had yet to rejoin them from Rivendell.  Thorin had never placed much faith in the wizard, since he clearly had his own agenda regarding their journey, but the younger members of his company had expressed misgivings over his absence.  

He got up with a low moan and stalked over to the guard post.  To his dismay, Bella Baggins was seated on a large boulder, keeping watch alone and humming quietly.  She appeared to be sewing a piece of cloth.

Thorin had very mixed feelings about her thus far, but it unfortunately manifested as disdain most of the time.  Sometimes he regretted it, but the success of the quest was far more important than making nice with the female hobbit.

Even if that hobbit was distractingly attractive.

“Can’t sleep?”

Thorin cursed himself when he realized that he had been staring at her.  He had also forgotten that in spite of the illusion of inattentiveness, she was actually very alert and astute to her surroundings.  She wasn’t looking in his direction though, so she probably hadn’t noticed the precise way he was watching her.  “No.  I’ll take over.  Get some rest.”  He stalked over and sat on the ground in front of her perch.

Bella glared down at him.  “I am perfectly capable of finishing my shift, Master Oakenshield.  I know that I still have much to prove, but I thought we’d settled this matter at least.”

Thorin rubbed his forehead, stifling a growl.  This had been a frequent argument early in the journey, as he had not trusted her to stay awake or serve as an effective guard.  But she had refused to be idle, and insisted on learning the ropes, as it were.  She turned out to be remarkably good at the watch, for although her night vision was not as keen as the dwarves, her sense of hearing was far better.

“I meant no insult, Miss Baggins,” Thorin said.  “I simply meant that since I am already awake, I might as well put the energy to use.  I assumed that you would welcome the chance to go back to sleep.”

“You assumed wrong,” Bella remarked.  After some thought, her voice softened as she said, “I do appreciate the offer though.  But, like you, I am too wide awake for the moment.  We might as well just stay awake together.”  She resumed working on her little stitching project, and seemed content to ignore him altogether.

Thorin was more than willing to do the same, but found it difficult to do so when she began to hum again, her voice barely above a whisper.  The melody stuck him as nonsensical, but as he focused his attention more on it instead of whatever else he meant to think about, something struck him as odd.  He recalled a conversation some weeks prior, during which Bella had refused to perform for the Company at Gandalf’s request.

“I thought you said you couldn’t sing,” he commented idly.  In the ensuing silence, he tilted his head back to peer up at her.  

Her hands were frozen in the middle of completing a stitch, and her back was rigid.  Her pouty lips were pulled taut and thin.  At last, she mumbled, “I said that I _don’t_ sing, not that I _couldn’t_.  There’s quite a difference.”

“Perhaps,” Thorin admitted.  “Yet in spite of your insistence otherwise, you are always humming or singing when you think no one can hear you.”

“An unfortunate habit, one that I seem to be unable to break,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Thorin raised a brow.  “I disagree.  It is a perfectly acceptable habit, particularly from you.  Why are you so defensive about such a trifle thing?”

Bella sighed and her hands fell into her lap.  “It is not a trifle thing, Master Oakenshield… at least, not to me.  It is a deeply personal matter, one which I have no wish to discuss with you.  I would rather not give you additional reasons to hate me more than you already do.”

Thorin bowed his head and closed his eyes with a groan.  “I do not hate you, Miss Baggins,” he said with utter exasperation.

The eery stillness following the admission unnerved him, and he chanced another glance up.  Bella’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes did not appear quite so stern, but she continued to frown.

Eventually, she settled on a look of resignation and said, “I shall endeavor to remember that the next time you feel inclined to insult me,” she mumbled dryly.  She bunched up her project and climbed down.  “Perhaps I _am_ beginning to tire a little.  If your offer still stands, I shall take my leave.”

Thorin was used to having others doubt him, but for some reason, it stung a bit to know that Bella, of all people, would not take him at his word.  “The offer does stand; I shall take the rest of the watch.”

She nodded stiffly and marched over to her bedroll near the dying embers of their fire.

“I meant what I said.  I do not hate you,” Thorin called after her, mindful of keeping his voice low so that he wouldn’t wake the others.     

Bella stopped and turned to look at him.  He held her eyes for a long moment, trying to decipher the guarded emotion on her face.  She nodded once and settled herself on the ground, facing away from him, before he could figure it out.

Thorin prepared his pipe and settled himself more comfortably as he indulged in a smoke, counting on the substance to quiet his unease.  Yet he was not calmed, and could not put the hobbit out of his mind, or the strange desire to establish a more amenable relationship.

He spent the rest of the night brooding, trying to refocus his mind on the potential dangers of the Misty Mountains, but more often than not, his thoughts strayed to their stubborn and vexing burglar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	3. Cadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cadence - a sequence of chords that brings an end to a phrase, either in the middle or the end of a composition

Bella jerked awake and sat upright with a gasp.  Her head was pounding, and her sweat-damp clothes stuck to her body.  She covered her mouth with a hand to muffle her panting as well as hold back the bile rising in her throat.

She was lucky that she did not make much noise in her sleep, even when in the throes of a nightmare.  The rest of the Company, Gandalf included, did not appear to have been disturbed by her sudden movements, and Dwalin, currently on guard duty, had not reacted.

Bella tasted blood on her lips, and her hands, still torn and dirty from their recent encounters with Goblins, Orcs, and that Gollum creature, shook uncontrollably.  She felt the urge to get up and move around a bit; perhaps that would calm her nerves.  Nodding to herself, she stood and brushed off the dirt from her trousers.  Then she shook her shirt, waistcoat, and jacket away from her body to dry the sweat and gain a little more breathing room.

She glanced about to try and pick a path around the sleeping dwarves, and approached Dwalin from behind.  Experience taught her that she should deliberately make more noise when she closed the distance, lest she startle him into lashing out instinctively.  She cleared her throat as she came close.

Dwalin reached for his ax but stood down as soon as he saw Bella.  “Oh, it’s just you,” he said gruffly.  “It’s still early.  What are you doing up, lass?”

Bella lifted one shoulder in what she hoped was a casual manner, her face carefully devoid of expression.  “Just feeling a bit restless, that’s all.  If you don’t mind, I’m just going to get a drink from the stream over there,” she said, pointing further down the hill from their camp.  “I won’t be long.”

“Just be careful, and stay alert,” Dwalin advised.

Bella forced a small smile and snuck away, grateful and rather proud of herself for maintaining her composure in front of the intimidating dwarf.  The moment her back was to him, however, her bottom lip quivered from the strain of holding back tears.

She found the stream with little effort.  Gandalf said that they would follow it into the woods of the lowlands, where it would eventually meet up with river.  There they would have the chance to bathe properly and wash their clothes before he led them to a house where they might find help.

Bella knelt down beside the little mountain stream, barely wide or deep enough to submerge her feet.  She stared at it unmoving for a long while, fighting a sob as the fear and stress and horror of the last few days caught up with her.  Adrenaline had kept it all at bay in the moment, but now that it had passed, she was left with the memory of monsters she never thought existed, let alone that she might have to face one day.

She couldn’t discuss her anxieties with the dwarves; the last few who had initially professed a disliking for her, including Thorin, had finally changed their minds because of her brave actions against Azog.  She didn’t want to ruin their mental image of the courageous, steadfast hobbit with the blubbering mess she was on the inside.

Bella wiped her eyes and swore, feeling like a fauntling cowering from a storm.  She was a fool to ever believe that bad weather and ill-tempered dwarves would be the worst she’d have to endure on this journey.  Her contract included a fire-breathing dragon, after all.  She’d best toughen up if she wanted to come out alive, sanity intact.

She didn’t know what made her think of it just then, but she remembered that when she was young and frightened, her mother used to sing to her to calm her panic.  It had been so long since she’d given it thought, but perhaps it would be alright if she indulged in a simple tune, since no one was listening.

_“Do not fret; do not fear,_

_It’s only thunder, dear_

_Calm your breath, dry those tears_

_Remember that I’m here.”_

She stopped with only the one little verse, as the loud tread of dwarven footsteps grew near.  She cursed her luck and quickly splashed her face with ice-cold water from the stream, washing away the last traces of her perceived weakness.

“You always insist that you do not sing,” said Thorin, sounding ragged and tired, “and yet I find you doing just that once again.”

Bella proceeded to wash her hands as well, unwilling to answer, but her eyes strayed to him when he sat down beside her with Orcrist across his lap.  She was not certain how she should behave around him anymore.  She had become a little self-conscious after their stay in Rivendell, because she had caught him glancing in her direction more than once since then.  She had hoped that the lingering stares meant that he was warming to her at the very least, but his cruel words on the mountain pass and following their escape from the goblin tunnels had thoroughly dashed her optimism.

But then he embraced her on the Carrock and smiled so very brightly.  What was she to do with all that?

“You should not wander far from us,” Thorin chided, breaking her thoughts, and apparently taking the hint to leave his other statement alone.  The admonishment was offered with much more gentleness than he once graced her.

“I have not,” she answered.  “Dwalin knew where I was.  And I am not unarmed.”  She tapped the hilt of the small sword at her waist.

“Still…” Thorin continued, “I would not have you risk yourself unnecessarily.”

Bella bristled, unsure of how she should interpret his meaning.  “My hands and face felt sticky with dirt and blood.  I wanted to wash, just a little.”  She looked at the dried blood on his nose and cheeks, and stamped down the memory of his lifeless form before the Pale Orc.  “You might do the same,” she suggested.

“Does it truly offend you so?” he asked, likely recalling her numerous complaints about dirty, smelly dwarves.  His split lip and ash-coated brows turned down.

Bella shook her head vigorously, hoping that she hadn’t annoyed him again.  “No… I mean, kind of… um…”  She blushed and looked down at her lap.  “The dirt doesn’t bother me like it used to, it’s just… the blood makes me think of how close I -  _we -_ were to losing you.  It’s not a pleasant reminder.”  She didn’t dare face him.

“But I’m fine,” he maintained, sounding confused.

She exhaled and nodded once.  “So you say, but... you don’t _look_ fine, and it worries me.”

“Would it ease your cares, if I were to wash away the blood?” Thorin inquired, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Bella lifted her chin to see his face, swallowing nervously at the tenderness in his eyes.  “It would,” she admitted.

He moved Orcrist aside and inched closer to the steady, flowing water.

She had no idea what came over her, but she reached out and set her hand on his arm, effectively stopping him.  “Please… l-let me,” she insisted.  At the quirk of his brow, she explained, “W-well, it’s quite dried on, you see, and I fear that if you scrub too hard, you’ll irritate the scratches, and they would reopen or get infected and… W-what am I saying?  I’m sure you know far more about these things than I.  That is to say… Oh, never mind!”  She turned her body away from him and ducked her head.

She heard him chuckle, and she fisted her hands on the edge of her coat.

“You seem nervous, Miss Baggins,” he mused, unnecessarily stating the obvious.

“Bella,” she corrected.  “My name is Bella.”  She fidgeted, well aware that his eyes were still on her.

“Bella…” he started, speaking slowly as though trying out her name.  “Would you... wash my wounds for me?”

Her head snapped up.  She wondered if she was seeing things, or if there truly was a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.  Blush or no, she was pleased by his consent and nodded, not trusting her voice to work properly.  She reached into a pocket, pulling from it a ratty-looking piece of folded, brown cloth, newly embroidered with green and gold thread.  She dipped the cloth in the stream, wrung out the excess water, then bunched it between her hands to warm it a little.  

By the time she turned back to Thorin, he had resettled, sitting cross-legged with his arms lightly resting on his thighs.  She avoided looking into those dark, blue eyes, and shifted closer, her knees just barely touching his feet.

She decided to start with the middle of his face and lifted her hand to it, waiting for a final affirmative.  At his nod, she very gently pressed the cloth to the stain across his nose, leaving it there briefly, and then wiping away the crusty remnants of smeared blood.  It took some doing; she opted for repetition over pressure, but eventually, the dirt and blood came off, revealing a scratch that was already healing.

She moved on to his cheeks, and by then she was better able to fixate on the task itself rather than the feel of the warm skin beneath her fingers.  The mark on the right side proved to be a little more stubborn, and without much thought, she placed her other hand along his jaw for purchase and to keep his head still.  She even started humming again, as she was wont to do at times when working with her hands.

When she was finished, Bella leaned back and searched for any areas she might have missed, turning Thorin’s head this way and that to see better.  Satisfied with her work, she smiled and pulled away.

Or she would have if Thorin had not taken her free hand in his.

“T-Thorin?” she stammered, forgetting her manners.

She thought she saw his eyes darken a shade.  His mouth opened and closed a few times.  At last, he said, “Miss Baggins... Bella, I...”  He exhaled.  “Thank you.”

She could feel her face and ears grow hot, but she did not extract her hand from his grip.  “You’re welcome,” she returned automatically, her conscious thought otherwise occupied by that butterfly-inducing gaze and the comforting warmth of his hand squeezing hers.

The barest hint of smile made its way to his lips.  Thorin brought her fingers to them and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.  Then he moved her hand back to rest against his cheek.

“Oh...” she mouthed, wondering if she should dare believe that his actions meant what she hoped they did.  Bella unclenched her hand just enough to touch the black and silver strands flowing from his temple.  “Do not tease me, Thor-Master Oakenshield, or pay me attentions you do not mean,” she warned, her voice low and almost dangerous.  “It would break my heart to learn that such a gesture is merely out of gratitude or obligation.”

Thorin observed her silently,  seemingly warring with emotions she was not accustomed to seeing in him.  Fearing the worst, Bella withdrew her hand.

She moved just in time.  The other dwarves were waking with loud groans, and a few of them were stumbling over to them when she stood.  She headed towards Gandalf, but she couldn’t resist a single glance back at the king.

She wasn’t sure if she should be unnerved or gratified to catch Thorin smirking at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	4. Modulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modulation - to shift to another key

Thorin kept a jealous eye on Bella while they rested at the Skinchanger’s house, puffing on his pipe in furious agitation.  Most of the Company had been on friendly terms with her for a long time, and it hadn’t really bothered him before, but recently (well, perhaps not as recently as he would admit), it irked him to see them act so familiar with her.  It was difficult, since she was just an endearing person by nature; they had yet to meet a reasonable creature, excluding orcs and wargs of course, that wasn’t swiftly swayed by her charms.

For his part, he could not pinpoint the exact moment his regard for her became more than fleeting curiosity.  He had spent the first few weeks of their journey ignoring her, believing her to be ill-suited for the tasks required of her, and certain that she would abandon them at the first chance.  Yet she had persevered against his expectations, endured the hardships of the road, and bravely rose to meet every unforeseen challenge that the group had faced.  

She had _almost_ taken a chance to leave them, which was his fault if he was being honest, but thankfully, she had changed her mind and declared that she would see them through their quest.  She then backed up her claim when she risked her own life to defend him from Azog.  While that was certainly a turning point in solidifying his feelings, thinking back on it revealed that the attraction had to have begun before that.

And now that Thorin was willing to acknowledge it, he found that he childishly wanted her attention all to himself.  He wanted her smiles and reassuring touches.  He wanted to be the one to make her laugh, to sit in comfort at her side, and have deep discussions or even arguments.

He also wanted a great deal more than that.  He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and plait it with beads and gems.  He wanted to hold her close and taste every inch of her skin.  He wanted to claim her and name her his, in every way possible, so that none would seek to part them.

The timing of it all was not ideal, but a lifetime of loss and grief have taught him that one must seize any chance for joy whenever it was presented.  With that in mind, Thorin tapped out the remnants of ash from his pipe and got to his feet.

Bella was standing at a window, looking up at the rising moon while she and Ori conversed in hushed tones.  Most of the others had already gone to sleep, though a few were still settling down.  Thorin waited until Ori left her side and retreated to sleep between his brothers, but the hobbit appeared to have no inclination of retiring just yet.  It was as good as an opportunity as he was likely to get.

He advanced towards her with what he assumed was the same confidence he always displayed, assuming that he was doing well to hide the nervousness he now felt whenever he first approached her.  Yet his anxiousness subsided when Bella glanced over and smiled, those small gestures enough to put him at ease.

“Good evening,” she said.  Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second.  “Goodness, but don’t you look serious.  Something on your mind?”

Thorin stared at her, gaping.  “How could you tell?” he wondered, forgetting to deny the supposition.  

“It seems to me that you sometimes say or do things that are the opposite of how you really feel, so I’ve been studying your expressions and body language.  It’s very subtle, but when you’re worried about something, you have a tendency to look around more, I think to avoid looking _down_ , which can make you appear unsure.  And this,” she pointed to the center of her own forehead between her eyebrows with a playful grin, “crinkles juuust a little bit, but not nearly as much as when you’re annoyed or angry.  Also, your mouth does this thing like you can’t decide whether to smile or frown.”

Thorin was shocked to find that she had learned to read him so accurately.  It was humbling in a way, as very few, even of his own kin, would recognize such things.  But it was also quite gratifying, and it gave him added assurance that he had not misunderstood her the other day.  He took a few steps closer and smirked.  “I had not realized that I captivate you so,” he teased.  “I must assume that you like what you see, if it causes you to stare long enough to learn such things.”

“Yes, well...” Bella turned her head away from him and sniffed indignantly.  “You have a tendency to make yourself the center of attention, whether you mean to or not.  And I _do_ watch you more closely, because you are by far the most reckless member of this Company.  Honestly, charging at orcs without aid as you did... you’re lucky to be alive.”  She was scowling, but the effect was offset by the crimson tint of her ears and shifting stance.

“Be that as it may,” Thorin chuckled, ignoring the reprimand, “I would have you know that I find myself likewise enthralled with _you_ , Bella.”

She did not react as he expected.  Instead of looking delighted or flattered, she crossed her arms and curled in on herself, shoulders hunched.  “Do not toy with me, Master Oakenshield.  I’m too old to play games of the heart.”

“This is no game,” Thorin stated, irritation rising at her reluctance.  “I know that I have not treated you well, so I understand why you doubt me.  But I _do_ care for you.  I have for a long while now.”  She didn’t appear convinced, so he explained, “I confess that part of the reason I was so harsh with you was because I am unused to feeling so strongly for someone, and I did not recognize it for what it was.  And now that I do, I regret that I have and will continue to lead you into such peril.”

He came close and set his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him.  “A quest is not usually a conducive atmosphere for romance, but I would not miss this chance to explore what lies between us.  Bella, if you and I are of the same mind in this, if you feel as I do, then I would ask that you allow me the honor of courting you.”

That got a more favorable reaction at last, though it still seemed tentative.  “Are you serious?  But we know so little about one another, when you think about it, and we’re quite different.”

“That’s generally the point of courting, isn’t it?  To get to know each other?” he pointed out.  “And our differences can surely be a benefit, don’t you think?”

Bella conceded with a nod.  “I suppose.”  Then she whispered, “B-but... I’m a hobbit, and of little consequence even among my own kind.  Surely others will see me as an ill choice for a king.”

“Others will see you as I do: as brave and beautiful and selfless, and worth more than any treasure found in the earth,” Thorin insisted.

“Oh my,” Bella breathed shyly, but smiling at last.  “I think you’re exaggerating things a bit.  But I do appreciate it,” she added when Thorin glared at her.  “But are you positive that you’re not still a little muddled from recent events?  Or that you are not mistaking gratitude or maybe admiration for something more than it is?”

Thorin wanted to groan at the hobbit’s hesitation.  “I _am_ certain of my feelings, Bella.  I ask only for a chance to prove them to you, and win your favor in return.”

She uncrossed her arms and reached up to tug on one of his braids.  “There’s no need for that.  I am sure of my feelings as well, though... I still have some doubts.  Nonetheless, I accept your offer, Thorin.”

That was only the second time she had called him by his name without formalities attached, and he instantly decided that he liked the way it sounded.  It felt right somehow, and gave him a sense of belonging, a peace he had only ever equated with family and Erebor.  

His name on her lips was like music, and he vaguely wondered how many different compositions he could coax from her.  If their courtship went well, he might learn someday.

Bella tilted her head and yawned, covering her mouth.  “Oh, excuse me,” she murmured.

Thorin reluctantly took a step back, his arms falling back to his sides.  “You should take your rest.  We can speak more of this in the morning.”

She sighed deeply and stayed where she was, head bowed.

“Bella?” Thorin asked.  He looked her over with a critical eye.  Only now did he take more notice of the rounded frame, lethargic movements and dark circles under her eyes.  “Have you been sleeping at all?”

“I’ve been trying, really I have, but whatever sleep I manage to get comes at a cost.  Ever since the goblin caves…”  She shivered and rubbed her arms, falling silent.

“What exactly happened when we were separated?”

Bella shrank even further.  “There was this creature… I’m not really sure what it was.  It wanted to eat me.”  When Thorin made an incredulous noise, she waved a hand.  “I got away before it could harm me, but there was something rather odd about it.  It terrified me, almost more than the goblins or Azog, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but pity it.”  She issued a self-deprecating giggle.  “I suppose that sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

Thorin shook his head with a fond expression.  “Coming from you?  Not at all.  But I believe I understand your difficulties.  You’re having nightmares.”

“Yes.”  Bella glanced at her bedroll.  “I _want_ to sleep, but I fear what I might see in my dreams when I do.”

Thorin didn’t want to seem overly forward, but she looked so forlorn that he couldn’t really help it.  He held out his arms as an invitation.  Bella wavered at first, but then she stepped in to accept his embrace, her own arms coming around his waist. “What can I do to ease your cares?” he offered.

“This certainly helps,” she said.  “Although... maybe you could sing for me?”  She lifted her head from his chest.  “I’ve never said so, but I find your voice very soothing, though perhaps a little melancholy at times.”

Thorin tried not to show that he was pleased by the request, but he suspected it was futile to mask it.  “Very well,” he decided with a small grin, “if that is what you desire.  But I may request that you return the favor someday.”

Bella’s smile waned, but she shrugged after giving it some thought.  “I... will consider it.”

He arched a brow, weighing the cost of pressing her for an explanation, but he perceived that this was not the time for it.  He had learned by now that it was a touchy subject for her, but he hoped that she might someday share the reason for it.

When she yawned again, Thorin pushed those thoughts aside and took her hand, leading her towards the hay mounds where the rest of the Company was already sleeping in great, snoring piles.

Bella had previously set her bedroll, newly borrowed from Beorn, close to the fireplace, and she wasted no time in settling herself beneath the blanket, curling on one side into her preferred sleeping position.

Thorin was sorely tempted to lie down next to her and pull her into his arms, but he presumed that it was far too soon into their courtship to test the level of propriety she was willing to forgo.  Dwarves were rather free, and perhaps even aggressive, in public affections, so that their intentions might be clear to any bystander, but he did not know if the same was true of hobbits.  Therefore, he reluctantly contented himself with sitting upright next to her, his back against the wall.

Bella was watching him expectantly, and she smiled at him when he refocused his sight upon her.

“Well, my dear, what would you have me sing?” he asked, allowing his affection to show freely on his face.

She hummed, thinking for a moment.  “Hmm... Would you sing me something from dwarven history?  It would allow me to learn more about your culture, as well as help me sleep.  Two birds with one stone, as the saying goes...”

Thorin puffed out his chest a little, glad to learn that her interest in history extended beyond the elves.  He was not yet ready to tell her that his previous mistreatment of her might also be due in part to her easy friendship and fascination with his adversaries. 

He searched his mind and settled on a popular favorite of his kin.  He cleared his throat, folded his hands in his lap, and began in a low, soft voice,

_“The world was young, the mountains green_

_No stain yet on the moon was seen;_

_No words were laid on stream or stone,_

_When Durin woke and walked alone...”_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI if you haven't read The Lord of Rings book: Thorin is singing the first few lines of "The Song of Durin" as sung by Gimli in The Fellowship of the Ring.
> 
> To be continued...


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude - instrumental music played between scenes in an opera or play; can also refer to the music break in a song when the singer does not sing

Bella stared up at the black canopy of sickly trees, attempting to order her thoughts into some semblance of rationality so that she could fulfill Gandalf’s request to record the proceedings of their journey.  She did not fully understand why he insisted on it, since Ori was already keeping his own, but she supposed that a second perspective would not be remiss.  However, the task was becoming increasingly onerous for both of them as the Company progressed ever deeper into Mirkwood.

Gandalf and Beorn had not pressed their warnings unnecessarily.  The elven path was difficult to follow on its own accord, winding up and down in no discernable direction and hiding under the dense overgrowth of twisted, gnarled branches.  The air was stifling and unmoving, and whatever enchantments, dark or otherwise, that lay upon the forest was nearly palpable.  The wizard said it would seek to enter their minds, but it was a gradual process, and they were all affected in varying degrees.  To some, it was similar to a drunken stupor or some other substance inebriation, leaving them stumbling and incoherent.  Others, mostly the younger ones, were despondent and silent, afraid of whatever hallucination the dark forest conjured in their vision.  Everyone was on edge, and tempers flared far too easily at any perceived slight against them.

Bella suffered the same at times, her experiences wavering depending on what was happening around her, but overall she just felt physically and mentally sluggish.  She imagined she was treading through a thick, slimy bog, restricted in motion and slow to form either words or thoughts.  It took great effort to stay alert, and even then she had a tendency to become utterly lost in her own mind.

The only thing that was sufficient to keep them all from descending into a hopeless madness was Thorin.  His stubborn and indomitable will held strong even in the face of such confusion, and his voice, whether barking out orders or singing a dwarven ballad (usually at her request, but sometimes his nephews begged him before she could) still possessed enough potency to pierce the haze that clouded them.

And their journey, dark though it felt, wasn’t all bad.

Bella glanced over at the king, a silly smile and a blush to match making its way across her face.  Aside from the obvious trials they’d been facing as they trekked through the contaminated wood, the past few weeks had been enjoyable on some levels.  Thorin was almost over-eager to make good on his desire to court her, resulting in more than a few mishaps due to their respective differences.  But after some discussion and the occasional argument, which, for all his obstinacy, Thorin seemed to enjoy, they’d established a process that worked for both of them.

For her part, she’d had to explain how important it was for them to be good friends, completely comfortable with one another.  He fully agreed, but he needed her to understand that dwarves were tactile and possessive by nature.  They’d had to come to a compromise in that regard, as Bella refused to allow him to dictate her interactions with others, but she would be attentive and considerate of his sensitivities in return.

Things went a lot more smoothly after that.  Tiresome, uneventful marches were alleviated whenever Thorin walked alongside her, holding her hand, or by his chivalrous need to support her whenever the path become more treacherous and uneven.  She was sure the others were aware of every small gesture; their leader had informed of them of their courting, but with the exception of Fili and Kili, they feigned ignorance after their initial glee.

Bella noted, however, that though Thorin had been persistent and unwavering, both in leading his Company and in pursuing her, even he was beginning to succumb to the mind-numbing effects of the forest.  He had become increasingly sullen and distant over the past few days, and she thought it high time that she do something about it.

She set aside Gandalf’s journal, abandoning her attempts to record the day’s proceedings for now, and reached into her pack, retrieving a tiny vial from its depths.  Then she stood up and crept over to where Thorin was seated on a fallen tree trunk, arms crossed and his back to the group as he contemplated their next move.

She set a hand on his shoulder from behind.  “Hello,” she greeted, mustering a smile.  “Do you mind if I join you, or would you rather sulk alone?”

“I am not sulking,” he snapped, without turning to face her.

Bella winced, immediately realizing that it was rather insensitive of her to tease him when he was distressed.  Evidently, he was far more worried than he had let on.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I shouldn’t have put it like that.”

Thorin groaned and pressed his palms against the sides of his head.  “And I shouldn’t have snapped as I did,” he admitted.  He looked around, his jaw clenched in what she knew to be anxiousness.  “It’s this damn forest…”  He trailed off and did not elaborate further.

She understood perfectly.  “I know.  And I have something that might help a little.  I would share it with the whole company if I could, but there isn’t much.  And as our leader, I think you would benefit most.  Also,” she flushed, “it’s part of a hobbit courting tradition.”

That bit of information peaked his interest.  “Oh?  What is it?”

Bella glanced back to verify that everyone else was preoccupied, and then returned to him with a mischievous grin.  “I’ll show you.”  She shrugged off her coat and stepped over the tree, then sat down on the ground with her legs crossed.  She folded her jacket and set it in her lap as a pillow.  “Lie down and rest your head here a moment,” she commanded.

Thorin raised his eyebrows, a smirk twitching on his lips, but he did as she asked.  He settled before her so that she was upside down when looked up at her.

Bella carefully arranged his hair so that none of it was falling over his face before she produced the vial and pulled the stopper from the top.  She could feel his eyes on her as she carefully tipped a few drops of its contents in her hand and set it aside.  Then she rubbed both hands together vigorously.

She brought them to her own face first, inhaling the scented oil and relishing in the memory of home for a moment.  After her own mind cleared, she moved her hands to hover over Thorin’s face.  “Take a few deep breaths,” she said.

He complied, and afterwards, she set her hands to rest on the sides of his head, the heels of her palms fitting into the slight groove of his temples.  She kept them still, mentally willing his thoughts to settle and grounding the both of them.  Once she felt the tension begin to leave his body, she moved her thumbs to the center of his forehead and stroked outward.  Her touch was firm yet gentle as she eased the worried lines of his face.

Thorin’s eyes drifted partially closed, but he was still observing her, unspoken questions in their depths.

“Hobbits,” she began in response, “grow many things for a variety of uses.  Food, pipe-weed, and tea leaves are the most prominent, of course.  But we also have flowers and other plants, and not all of them are mere recreational.  We have seasonings and medicinal herbs, and fragrant flora that cannot be found anywhere else in Middle Earth.  We process and extract oils from some of these, which can be used for perfumes and balms, just about anything really.

“Beorn’s garden had a lot of valuable plants, and while we were there, he told me that I could take whatever I wished.  Since I knew we were going to have a rough time of it here, I decided to try and make something for clarity and serenity.  Rosemary, Peppermint, Sage, Juniper Berry…” she listed off.  “There are other kinds as well, in very small amounts.  I would have liked to make more, but there wasn’t time.”

“I see,” Thorin drawled sleepily.  “But I thought you said this was part of a courtship ritual.”

“Yes, it can be,” Bella answered.  “Many of the plants that we use are tricky to grow, and others require a vast quantity to produce even a small amount of useable oil.  It’s usually quite time-consuming and very difficult, so to go through the trouble to make specific oils is considered a labor of love.  And to anoint another with such a costly substance is a sign of great affection.  It’s even used in our wedding ceremonies, to show that we will honor, love and respect our spouse,” she added softly.

Thorin closed his eyes and did not say anything for a long while.  She did not know whether he was thinking of everything she had told him, or if he was falling asleep.  Either was fine, as he seemed fully relaxed.  Her fingers continued to massage his face, tracing his eyebrows and following the prominent nose sometimes.

The only thing she was careful to avoid touching too much was his hair.  According to him, the act of combing or braiding another’s hair was an intimate act reserved for immediate family or lovers who were at least engaged.  As they hadn’t reached that stage in their courtship, it would be inappropriate for her to play with his long, dark locks just yet, no matter how much she wished to.  The occasional touch was alright, such as when she’d settled him a few moments ago, but anything more would be too forward.

She would have liked to progress their relationship to something close to that level a little faster, and from the way Thorin watched her fix her hair in the morning, hands clenched as though restraining himself, he was in agreement.  But as Mirkwood dampened their spirits and supplies diminished, they decided to put some things on hold until they cleared the oppressive forest.

“I think I like this custom of yours,” Thorin murmured.  “I lack the skills to make such oils, but once we reclaim Erebor, I shall have the means to purchase the best available.”  He opened his eyes and reached up with one hand to grasp hers, still resting on his face.  “Then I’ll return the favor.”

She smiled down at him, reminding herself not to take offense at his offer to buy oil rather than make it.  This was simply one of their differences that she had to accept; expensive gifts and hand-crafted trinkets of other sorts were evidently important to dwarves, just as home-cooked meals, long walks, and the comforts of home were to her.

“I’d like that,” she told him honestly.

“And perhaps…” Thorin started, as though afraid of her reaction, “… you’ll finally agree to sing for me?”  Before she could formulate an excuse, he said, “I know you’ve been reluctant to discuss it, but since we’re on the subject, you should know that music plays a great part in many dwarven ceremonies.”

He sat up suddenly, forcing her to relinquish her grasp.  He shifted so that he was facing her and took both of her hands in his.  “I do not mean to intimidate you by saying this, but if…” He paused and then continued.  “… If things go well between us, there are certain expectations you would have to meet, some which involve participating in traditional musical performances.”

Bella grimaced, but she appreciated that he was attempting to be delicate (a word she would almost never associate with dwarves).  She had confessed to him that the prospect of possibly become a queen was overwhelming, but she would not let it deter her from pursuing their relationship.  She swallowed and nodded.  “I understand.  And it’s not as though I don’t _want_ to…”

“I wish you would tell me why you are so hesitant in this matter,” Thorin grumbled, sounding highly put-out.

Bella looked into his eyes, surprised by his tone.  She realized now that he was hurt by her refusal to confide in him.  She made her decision then, and squeezed his hands.  “I will.  I’ll tell you, I mean.  But not now.”  She elaborated to placate his frustration.  “It is a story that pains me yet with grief and shame.  I fear that this place,” her eyes strayed up at the dark trees, “will make it worse.  Once we are free of this cursed forest and overwhelming darkness, I will tell you everything.”

Thorin stared at her with what she guessed was disbelief on his features.  He raised their joined hands to kiss her fingers.  “Thank you.  I look forward to it.  It’s just the motivation I need to get us out of here as quickly as possible.”

“I should think so, never mind our dwindling supplies, low spirits, and desperate need to bathe,” Bella mumbled to herself.  She shrugged and said more clearly, “Whatever works, I suppose.  And anyway, I have faith in you, Thorin.”

His eyes slipped half-closed again as he smiled at her.

Bella would have liked to stay with him to talk some more, but she still had tasks of her own to complete.  “I… um… I promised Bombur that I would help him take inventory of the food, and I still need to work on Gandalf’s journal,” she said.  She withdrew her hands from him and stood up, pocketing the oil and putting her coat back on.

“And I have the first watch,” Thorin said with a sigh, standing as well.

She grinned coyly and let her Tookish instincts take over.  “Well then, I’ll leave you to it.”  She clasped her hands behind her back and stepped close, then stood up on her toes to give him a kiss on his whiskered cheek.  “Goodnight, Thorin.”

She laughed at his dumbfounded expression and cautiously made her way to her pack and bedroll.  However, once she took up Gandalf’s book and charcoal pencil again, a rather different idea occurred to her.

She considered it briefly, casting a glance back at Thorin.  Making up her mind, she flipped to a blank page near the end of the journal and tore it out.  She hummed faintly and began to jot down fragments of words, phrases, and half-formed thoughts, pushing aside her doubts and sadness for the sake of the dwarf she (though she did not admit it aloud yet) loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	6. Ritardando

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritardando - musical term for tempo direction; slowing down, decelerating

Thorin paced the length of his prison cell, his thoughts storming with worry as he considered his current predicament.

He had known heartache and hopelessness in his long life.  He had witnessed the slaughter of both kith and kin by orcs, old age, starvation, insanity, and of course, dragonfire.  He had spent many a sleepless night fretting over the unhappy fate of his people, and had been forced to swallow the doubts that haunted nearly every decision he had ever made in leading them.  

But in spite of this, he had never been one to outright fear the unknown, as his stubborn determination to confront and overcome any conflict he might face had always been enough to see him through.  His kind did not have the gift of foresight, but they were wise enough in their own fashion to be able to read situations and formulate contingency plans in order to ensure that whatever end awaited them was still one in their favor.  In short, dwarves, and Thorin Oakenshield in particular, could be called many things, but “helpless” was never one of them.

Yet there was no other way to describe how he was feeling at the moment.  He was, without question, entirely helpless in every way.  He had never before faced such immense indecision or been at the mercy of his enemies so completely.  Confined deep in the lowest dungeons of the Elvenking’s palace, alone, and with no course of action available to him and no news of his Company, Thorin began to sink into a deep despair.

Where were the others?  Had they been captured by the elves and detained elsewhere, or were they still lost in Mirkwood, ensnared by evil spells and slowly succumbing to madness or deprivation?  Were his companions together, or had they been separated?  And were they aware of his capture, or were they fruitlessly searching for him beneath the eaves of the cursed wood?  These and many other questions of a similar nature plagued him once his own psyche had cleared and his hunger sated.

Certainly it had crossed his mind to ask the Woodland Elves what they might know, but he dare not trust that they would be truthful or merciful.  They had proven themselves to be faithless allies in the past, and while his life was spared for now, there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t kill his friends.  They were false and treacherous, and he could not risk revealing anything of his quest (even if Thranduil already guessed it) or those that journeyed with him.

Though the prospect of it was low, he also had to consider that except for his own case, all was perfectly well.  Surely Fili, as his heir, could have shouldered the responsibility of leading the others in his absence.  Maybe he discovered his uncle’s captivity and was working on some way to rescue him.  Perhaps Balin, ever the cool-headed diplomat, would approach Thranduil and attempt to negotiate Thorin’s release, hopefully in such a way that the elves would gain neither treasure nor a renewal of alliance from the dwarves of Erebor.  Both scenarios were unlikely, but still a possibility.

He just didn’t know, and every minute that passed without news was absolute torture.  

Thorin stopped fidgeting and sat down on the bed.  Once more, he tried to sift through every detail of his last encounter with the Company before his own imprisonment.

The last clear memory he had was the argument that had transpired regarding whether or not they should seek aid from the elves they had glimpsed feasting in distant groves, where the gloom of the forest lightened.  Hunger and mistrust had been at the heart of the opposing sides in the conflict: half of the company was willing to forget past grievances if it meant they might be fed, while the rest would not let go of their conviction that they should never willingly take help from their betrayers.  It had caused an even divide, with only Bella and Balin in the middle, unable to be swayed one way or another for a long while.  

Balin understood both views in the discussion, for he battled pride and hunger in equal measure.  Their hobbit, on the other hand, did not hold the same animosity for the elves, but she did not wish to disregard Gandalf’s warnings to stay on the path.  It devolved into a brutal squabble, but eventually, they all managed to agree with Bella’s eventual assertion that the potential for a quick death on the end of an elvish blade was far more preferable to a slow one from lack of food or water.  Once the matter was settled, they seized the first opportunity to follow the light of the lanterns towards what they hoped would be their salvation.

Everything after that was a blur.  He remembered the sudden hush that had fallen over the opposing races, and then a great darkness, deeper and more all-consuming than ever before.  Thorin was immediately overtaken, his hands set in bonds and an invocation like a dead weight laid upon his will, forcing him to obey the elves’ harsh commands to submit to their authority and be drawn away.

He was not certain what went on around him following his capture.  He thought he had heard the voices of his companions calling  for one another, but they had quickly turned to screams of terror and cries for help.  There was an awful clicking noise overhead, and soon enough, all audible traces of the others faded and vanished.  The very last thing he’d heard was Bella, sobbing his name.  Then he knew no more until he stood before King Thranduil.

Thorin bowed his head into his hands and closed his eyes, the heavy burden of loss settling on his shoulders like prison chains.  His thoughts and concerns strayed to each member of his Company in turn, but more often than not fell to his nephews and Bella, the latter most of all.  His entire being ached for her, to hold her close and have her never to leave his side.  There was no longer any doubt that he loved her with all his heart, and should be with her always.  She was his One, and he would confess it at the first opportunity, provided that she yet lived.

The dwarf king began to tremble with fear and anguish when his mind assailed him with horrible images of her yet again.  In one instance, she was lying in a pool of crimson, while an elf clad in green and brown bearing a dripping Orcrist stood over her.  Or else, she was curled in a tiny ball, the outline of her bones protruding through sallow skin as she practically drowned in her own clothes.  His grim imagination went on, conjuring ever more dreadful fates for his beloved, though he fought it and tried to think more positively.

Thorin jumped to his feet with a loud, frustrated roar.  He wished there were other objects or furniture in the dungeon besides the cot and bedpan; he wanted something to beat on or destroy in his rage.  He half hoped that one of his elven guards would come around so that he had someone to scream at and blame.  Instead, he had to settle for kicking one of the walls, and then pounding his fists against the door of his cell, screaming obscenities in Khuzdul.

“... Thorin?”

He stopped at once, eyes narrowed doubtfully.  Just when he thought the situation couldn’t get worse, he had to call his sanity into question.  There had always been a nagging doubt regarding his rationality thanks to his forebears, but as luck would have it, he would be the first one to start hearing voices.  It hardly mattered that the voice was the one he most desired to hear, so sweet and melodious, and always reassuring.  

He sighed and slumped against the door, his forehead braced against the smooth grain of dense, reinforced wood.  He closed his eyes to trap the discouraged tears that tried to escape.

“Thorin?  Thorin!  Please!  It’s me... it’s Bella.  Where are you?”

A jolt ran through his body.  Thorin snapped to attention at once, and he stumbled back a few paces.  Could it really be?  Did he dare believe that the voice was not the product of deep longing or a deterioration of his mental faculties?

“Thorin?  I know you’re here somewhere.  Please let me know where you are!”

Hope stirred in his heart as his gaze traveled upwards, towards the single barred window near the top of the door.  A dim light shone and any noises from the corridor beyond flitted through.  “Bella?”

He heard a choked gasp, and then, “Oh, Thorin... I can’t believe this!  Which cell are you in?”

Thorin had long since forgotten that although he was confined alone, he had initially been led through a long hallway lined with multiple prison chambers.  He rapped his knuckles on his door.  “Over here!” he called.

“Shh!  Not so loud!” came a hiss.  There were no audible footfalls to signal her approach, so the answering knock that reverberated through the door startled him somewhat.  “Here?”

“Yes,” Thorin replied.  He placed both of his palms on the barrier between them, imaging Bella doing the same  on the other side.

“Oh, confusticate these Mirkwood elves!  They must have placed you in the jails meant for their own kind.  At least with the others, I can see them.  Hang on... oh yes!  Hold on a moment, Thorin; I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

He panicked and leaned more heavily upon the door.  “Wait!  Bella, don’t go!”

He needn’t have worried.  Before he could begin to doubt his stability again, he heard a low scraping sound, as though some heavy object was being pushed across the floor.  There was another bump against the door, and then a shadowed face appeared in the window, obscuring the light behind.

It was really her, beyond all hope.  Her face was coated with a layer of dirt, and her hair hung loose and limp on her shoulders, matted with something dark and sticky-looking.  What little he could see of her clothes were rumpled and covered with what appeared to be thick cobwebs.

Yet he was sure that he’d never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life.

As soon as their eyes met, Bella’s filled with tears, leaving white tracks on her dusty cheeks.  Her hands came up to grip the bars on the window.  “Thorin... oh, Thorin!  I’d thought we’d lost you.  After we escaped the spiders, there was no time for a proper count to make sure everyone was together, and then the elves captured the others...”  She babbled on with barely a breath, speaking of circumstances that Thorin didn’t understand.

It hardly mattered, since he couldn’t really focus on what she was saying.  For a long moment, all he could do was stare up at her, drinking in the sight of her, alive and here.  His relief and awe was so overwhelming that he didn’t catch the words he needed to hear the most, until it was repeated a few times in various renditions amidst her nervous chatter.  “We?  Then the others... my nephews...?”

Bella paused and smiled, nodding vigorously.  “Yes.  They’re all been captured as well.  They are being kept in prisons near the center of the... city?  Palace?  I’m not sure how to describe this place exactly.  But anyway, every single one of them is accounted for.  You were the only one we couldn’t find.  We didn’t know if... we thought...” She trailed off and hiccuped.

Thorin exhaled, feeling like something tense and heavy in his gut was uncoiling, allowing him to breath more freely.  He stood up on his toes a little so that he could reach up and cover both of her hands with his.  “I’m alright, Bella.  

“I know,” she murmured.  She let go of the bars so that they would hold hands instead.  It was a little awkward; the iron rods that striped the small opening were closely spaced, and Bella’s arms, small and thin as they were, could only just fit between them up to the middle of her forearms.  But any contact they could manage was better than none at all.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she assured him.  “I’m not sure how, but I’ll figure something out.”

“I know you will,” Thorin replied in a low voice.  “I have faith in you.  But you must be careful.  I cannot bear the thought of losing you again, my love.”  He chose his words deliberately, pouring all of his affection into them and willing her to understand.  If it were up to him, they would never part again, but given their current circumstances, he was adamant that she should at least know how he felt from now on.

And from Bella’s wide-eyed reaction, she didn’t miss it.  “Thorin…”

He pressed himself closer to the door and stood as high as he possibly could, wishing he could be nearer to her, that he could hold her as he laid his heart bare.  “I love you, my Bella.  I have known it for while, but I did not wish to pressure you, or make you feel as though you must say the same.  And you needn’t return the words now, if you are not ready.  But, as you can imagine, I’ve had a great deal of time to think.  I thought that I would go mad with worry for you… and the others, of course.  But the idea that you were out there somewhere, possibly dead or dying… I couldn’t bear it.  If the worst should have happened, I do not know if I could have borne the grief.”

Bella’s eyes teared up again, but before she could say anything, a loud clang echoed far down the hall, causing her to jump and turn her head.  “Guard rotation,” she whispered.  “I have to go.  But I’ll come back as soon as I can.”  She wrenched her arms free of the bars and Thorin’s grip.  “Quick… is there anything you want me to tell the others when I see them?”

He stood back on his feet and considered.  “Just that I’m fine.  And that I’m glad they are all safe.  Also, tell them that if Thranduil or anyone else tries to question them, they are not to reveal anything of themselves or the quest until I say otherwise.”

“Got it.”  Quick as a flash, she vanished from his sight, and the rough scuffing noise indicated that she was returning whatever she had been standing on back to where she found it.

The soft tread of elven boots drew near, and Thorin briefly panicked, sure that she would be discovered.  He didn’t have time to ask how she had remained undetected so far, but every day that he’d spent with her reinforced the notion that he should never underestimate her cleverness or resourcefulness.  He prayed that it would be enough to keep her free and safe.

The guards were coming closer, but it seemed that she would not leave without a final word.  Her voice returned at the door, faint but filled with joy.  “I’ll see you later.  Oh… and Thorin?  I love you too.”

And then she was gone, or at least he assumed so, since the two armored elves who come into view gave no indication of coming upon an intruder.  Although, they probably suspected something was amiss, considering the rather docile manner with which he accepted his meal and the giddy grin he couldn’t manage to subdue.

He really didn’t care if they were suspicious or annoyed by the sudden change in his demeanor.  The knowledge that his entire company was alive and well would have been more than enough to satisfy him.  But he had also been granted the chance follow through on his vow to profess his love to Bella and, to his relief, find it returned.

Such a blessing made even this dark prison cell feel like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	7. Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grave - word to indicate the movement or entire composition is to be played very slow and serious

Bella soundlessly trudged down the long, winding stairway that led to the lower dungeons, where Thorin was waiting for her.  She was exhausted and hungry, worn down in both body and soul, and it made her either extremely irritable or pathetically weepy, depending on where she was or who she was talking to.

Unlike her dwarven companions, who were well rested and regularly fed by their captors, she had to manage on whatever stolen morsels and fleeting naps she could sneak in.  Fear kept her from taking anything more than scraps, lest one of the sharp-eyed elves take notice, and there was no place in the whole of the Elvenking’s palace that she felt safe enough to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

Typically, she waited until well after mealtimes and then tucked herself in the dark corners of store rooms behind shelves, crates or barrels, if she could squeeze between them.  In this way, there was less chance that she would be discovered by a servant searching for some ingredient or tool.  The fact that the curious little Ring she’d won from Gollum made her invisible to all eyes did not ease her anxiety; in fact, it seemed to increase it.  

Whenever she wore it, she saw the world through veiled shadows, and the cold darkness that wrapped around her form strangely made her feel more exposed, detectable now to a realm that had not known her.  The longer she kept it on, the more she felt disconnected from reality.  The Ring itself became ever more present in her mind, clouding her thoughts in a similar manner as the evil enchantments of Mirkwood.  

Bella reached the bottom of the stairs and waited, listening for the telltale sounds of the elves passing Thorin his evening meal and then locking him up again.  Careful observation had given her a good timeline for when it was best to visit each and every dwarf, and after dinner was ideal in Thorin’s case.  It seemed that the elves were not at all concerned that any of them might escape, so there were no guards regularly stationed near them; they simply checked on their prisoners when the shift changed or when they had to bring the dwarves food.

Bella pressed herself against a wall and watched two guards pass, rolling her eyes at their usual complaints about ill-tempered dwarves.  Once the door at the top of the stairs banged shut, she crept down the hall to Thorin’s cell.  Then she knocked three times to let him know she was there; it was a signal they had agreed upon to indicate that all was clear and they were free to talk.

“Are you alright, my love?” Thorin asked immediately, as he always did.

Bella removed her Ring and breathed deeply, simultaneously glad to take it off and itching to put it back on.  “Well enough, but I’m too tired to drag that chair over,” she answered.  She had never before resented her stature much until she’d been thrust into the wide world of big folk.  She hated that Thorin was locked up at all, but even more so that she couldn’t see him unless she heaved over a heavy chair from a nearby closet.

She turned and pressed her spine against the door, sliding down to sit.  She tipped her head back, letting it thud against the barrier between them.  

“Any news from the others?”

Bella smiled in recollection.  “This morning at breakfast, Dwalin tried to fight his way out of his cell again when the elves brought the meal.  He didn’t hurt any of them, but they were very cross.  They’ll likely put him in irons soon, if he doesn’t settle down.  Also,” she snickered, “I made the terrible mistake of teaching Fili and Kili a word game to keep them occupied.  You basically make up a poem or story one sentence at a time.  The players take turns adding a sentence, but it must begin with the word that ended the previous one.  Every one that those two composed mostly involved coming up with creative new insults for their captors.  Needless to say, the elves do not find it nearly as amusing.”

She heard Thorin laugh.  “At least they are in good spirits,” he conceded.

“I suppose,” Bella mumbled, letting the fatigue come through her voice.  

Thorin said nothing for a few minutes; she presumed that he was eating.  Eventually, he inquired, “Are you truly well?  You don’t sound like yourself.”

Bella shivered and pulled her knees up to her chest.  “I’m just... I’m so tired, Thorin.  It could just be that the pressure of this whole situation is starting to get to me.  I know you’re all counting on me, but I’m having absolutely no luck coming up with some way to free you.”  She hesitated, and then acknowledged, “And when I’m not busy snooping around this place, I’ve taken to just thinking a lot.  And I find that my thoughts have turned so dark as of late.  I hardly remember what it’s like to be cheerful, or the things that mean the most to me.”

There was a pause.  “And you are sure that the Ring has nothing to do with it?”

Bella frowned and shook her head, even though Thorin couldn’t see it.  She’d had no choice but to tell him of her magic trinket in order to explain how she had avoided being caught, but he seemed wary of it.  “I doubt it,” she said.  “It’s just a ring, Thorin.  It’s not like it has a mind of its own.”

He must have detected the defensiveness in her tone, because he let the matter drop.  “What do you mean when you say that your thoughts have turned dark?”

Bella rubbed her eyes.  “I’m... I don’t really know how to explain it.  I guess... maybe I’m just lonely, and homesick.  Well, I’m always thinking of home a little, but the longer I’m with you and the others, the less it hurts.  But with all of you locked up, I don’t get the chance to talk with you as much.”  

She rested her chin on her knees.  She sniffled a little, and was glad that Thorin couldn’t see her.  “I’m such a small thing, Thorin, and this world is so much bigger than I ever imagined,” she whispered.  “Sometimes it feels like I’m losing my way or a sense of who I am.  I’m trying not to let it get to me; I want to see this quest through, to help you regain the home you’ve lost.  And I will, no matter what.  But sometimes, I find myself falling into despair.  And it’s so easy to feel insignificant in that despair.”   

“I think I understand,” Thorin told her.  She heard him shuffling around against the door before he elaborated, “Before Erebor was taken from us, I did not venture far outside of the mountain, nor did I give much thought to others, save for our allies and trade partners.  But after Smaug came and my people were forced into exile, we faced the challenge of making a new place for ourselves, in world that had neither known us nor cared for us.

“And though my grandfather was still king, the burden of leading our people often fell to me.  For many years, I had to think only of them.  I had to forgo my own dreams and desires so that I could provide for my people.  In order to accomplish that, it was necessary for me to suppress my sorrow over home and lost loved ones, as well as my joy and pride, until long years had dimmed the fires of my heart to a smoldering ember, and the glory of our kingdom was but a distant memory.”

Bella lifted her head at this.  She adjusted her position so that she was more angled to the side, and she pressed her ear against the door.“Then how did you find the strength to go on?” she breathed.  “How did you keep yourself from forgetting all that you loved and lost?  How did you muster enough faith to undertake this quest at all?”

“Partially by reminding myself that I had no desire to grow fat and old in obscurity,” Thorin answered, his tone betraying a hint of bitterness.  “I kept the alternatives in my mind.  It was really less about faith in anything and more about making the decision not to settle for anything less than my heart’s desire.  I would - I will - reclaim Erebor, the only place that will ever truly be home to me.”  His voice changed, and she could tell he was smiling now.  “I took the same approach to you, my Bella.  I love you, and I will have no other.”

She blushed and placed both of her cold hands on her cheeks.  She had been certain of her feelings when she confessed them to Thorin, but it was still a new experience to hear him speak of love so easily.  “You are such an utter sap,” she chided, but she didn’t stop herself from giggling childishly.

Thorin chuckled, and then they both grew quiet.

After a while, he broke the stillness by saying, “You mentioned earlier that you are more or less having trouble remembering yourself, and every time you visit, you appear to be increasingly anxious.  I sometimes find that the memories we cherish may return to us more clearly if we speak of them, and any pain they once brought might turn to contentment or strengthen our resolve.  That is one of the reasons we compose songs and tell stories, to remember.  It might be helpful for you to talk about the things you’re afraid of forgetting, those things that mean the most to you, and of your worries.  I will listen as long as you need.”

“Hmm...” Bella hummed, considering.  She was truly thankful for the offer.  She also found it remarkable that Thorin was exercising patience rather than pushing her to speak immediately.

But after giving it some thought, she sighed, “I have seen so many marvelous wonders on this journey.  It almost seems silly to talk about the Shire, or myself.  What are the rolling, green hills of Hobbiton compared to the wild, untamed lands beyond our borders?  What is Bag End but an insignificant shadow in the light of Rivendell’s glory, or - from what you’ve told me - an inconsequential spec, wholly eclipsed by the halls of Erebor?  The only point of pride we have in the Shire, besides our gardens, is the Party Tree.”

Bella closed her eyes and pictured it in her mind.  If she concentrated hard enough, she could envision its wide, sprawling branches, spread out as if in welcome.  In spite of her misgivings, she progressed.  “Did you see it, Thorin, when we rode through Hobbiton?  It’s the biggest tree around, and all of our most important events are held beneath its leaves.  Birthday parties, weddings... we even have funerals there sometimes, depending on the person’s final wishes.”

“I’m afraid that I did not give much thought to our surroundings when we were traveling through your homeland, apart from assessing the dangers to the Company,” Thorin told her.

She wasn’t at all surprised by that, but she did not blame him for it.  Dwarves, on the whole, took little notice of trees and plants unless it served some purpose.  Hobbits valued _all_ things that grew, but Bella recalled the Party Tree with special significance.

“When I was a fauntling, that tree served as the center of most of my imaginary adventures.  Sometimes it was an ancient castle where mighty elven lords dwelt, or a prison tower that housed lonely princesses.  Other times, I pretended that it was a dragon or a troll, or some other beast that needed to be slain.”

“That doesn’t sound very _respectable_ to me,” Thorin teased, referring to her old mindset.

“No,” Bella agreed with a grin.  “I was much more Tookish as a child in that way, though it made me terribly shy.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Bella shrugged to herself.  “Other hobbits my age just didn’t have the same interests as me.  They didn’t have that visionary streak that made me dream of adventures.  So for a very long time, my mother was my only playmate.  She was the one who told me the stories about elves and men and dwarves.  She encouraged my curiosity, and didn’t mind that I wandered far across the Shire all by myself.”

Bella faltered in her narrative, debating if now was the appropriate moment to divulge her long-kept secret.  Thorin hadn’t explicitly asked about it since their reunion, but from his occasional hints, she was certain that he had been thinking about it.  He had little else to do after all.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled very slowly.  “My mother,” she said haltingly, “was also the one who taught me to sing.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the cell door.  She imagined that she had Thorin’s full attention now.

“To be more precise,” she went on, “she taught me how to _listen_.  She would always say that it’s not talent or even the quality of one’s voice that makes a good singer, but rather the ability to truly _hear_ music.

“The two of us used to sing together all the time, everything from fun little tunes about washing your hands to lengthy elvish ballads.  By listening to her, I learned how to harmonize with her melodies, until we could jump back and forth between parts without thought.  Our voices blended really well together, and my father used to tell us that we were so in sync that he couldn’t tell us apart.”

Bella searched her heart, trying hard to remember the sound of her mother’s voice.  There had been a time when she could hardly do anything at all without hearing the echo of an old favorite song, but now, after so many years, it took great effort to recall that which she had most craved to hear.

Thorin, for his part, did not interrupt or comment just yet, likely so that he would not break her resolution.

“Sometimes, we performed duets at social events,” she continued.  “I was really uncomfortable with it at first, but as I got older and more confident in my own abilities, my mother encouraged me to sing solos.  I managed it eventually, but I never really felt like I did very well unless she was at least in the audience.  It just didn’t feel right if she wasn’t involved _somehow_ , even if it was only to serve as a supporting presence.”  Bella bowed her head.  “In my heart, I was singing only for her, and my father... for the people I loved the most.”

Her hands began to tremble, and she folded them together in her lap to still them.  “It happened when I was almost of age, but still a tween by hobbit standards,” she said, her voice changing.  She spoke very quietly now; she wasn’t certain that Thorin could understand her, but she did not have to strength the speak any louder.  “The child of a family friend had gone missing, somewhere near the Old Forest.  My father, reserved and fearful as he was, volunteered to go look for him.  He and about six others rallied and left well before dawn, promising that they would be back in a few days.  But... that was the last time my mother and I saw him alive.”

“I am sorry, Bella,” Thorin said automatically.  

She pressed on as though she hadn’t heard him.  “We were told by the Sheriffs that they must have gotten lost in the Forest, and were attacked by wolves.  They managed to find their way out, but they were all gravely wounded.  My father died from blood loss near the borders of Hobbiton.”

Bella didn’t fully weep, but a few tears trickled down her pale cheeks.  She took a breather to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.  Not for the first time, she wished she had a handkerchief on hand.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.  “Mama was never the same after that.  She became withdrawn, wane and weak, tormented in spirit for the love and loss of him.  She didn’t take pleasure in anything anymore.  I think life felt like a chore, empty of reason without him.  Some days, she didn’t even leave her bed, and when she did, she just went through the motions of living.  I remember that her expression was always so vacant, and her eyes were distant.  I wondered if she recognized me or knew who I was, because there was no longer any warmth within her.

“I was sad too of course, but it hurt even more to see her like that.  I did everything I could to help out.  I cooked, took care of the house, and tended the garden.  And when all of the practical stuff was done, I sat by her side and read her favorite books aloud to her.  But she never really responded unless I sang.”

Bella closed her eyes again.  A tentative smile made its way to her lips, but it was bittersweet.  “Whenever I sang, Mama would hold my hand and smile at me.  In those moments, it was almost like she was herself again.  Sometimes, she even found the strength to sing along.  But usually, she just listened.  And she said to me,”

 _“You know love, our neighbors and relatives have taken to calling me “Mad Baggins”.  And I do believe they’re right.  I am mad with grief.  I miss your father so.  I see him everywhere; I hear him; I feel him.  And I dream of him, both in waking and sleeping.  I almost feel that I no longer know the difference between the two.  But when I hear your voice... when you sing for me, I feel the madness leave me.  I remember that there is a world beyond our door - a world that is still beautiful, even if it seems less to me now that he is gone.  But the sun still shines, and the heather is blooming, and the wind whistles through the trees.  There is still hope and life to be found, if I can learn to see.  So please, sing for me again, that I may find the way out of this darkness.”_   

Recalling her mother’s words still brought her a great deal of both pain and joy: pain to remember how deeply anguished Belladonna had been over the loss of her husband, but joy to know that she’d been able to ease it at times.

“Your voice must truly be a wonder, if in it is a power to awaken one so troubled,” Thorin surmised.

His voice was exceptionally tender, and Bella was comforted by it.  “I don’t know about that,” she retorted, but flushing with pride anyway.  Then she swallowed again and hugged herself.

She had been somewhat glad of the door that separated them when she first began telling the story, mostly because she was still irrationally ashamed by her inability to move on in some respects, but now she regretted her impatience.  She wished Thorin could hold her while she disclosed her greatest source of unhappiness.

“Perhaps it _was_ enough, for a time, to tether her to life.  But it wasn’t long before she faded beyond aid.”

Bella choked back the urge to break into heaving sobs; their current situation was far too precarious to risk it, but she did allow herself to cry a little more.  “I - I should have seen the signs.  She had been looking especially weary for a week.  I came home from the market one day to find her sprawled out on the kitchen floor; I think she must have fainted.  I called one of our neighbors to help me move her to the bedroom, and then while he ran to fetch a doctor, I made her comfortable and gave her some water.

“The doctor examined her thoroughly and questioned me about what she had been doing and everything she’d eaten, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with her.  Finally, he just said she needed rest and went away.

“But after he had gone, Mama told me that she just couldn’t bear it anymore.  She wanted to die, to be reunited with Papa in the gardens of Yavanna.  And she asked me to sing for her... one last time.”

“I refused to accept that she was dying, but I sang for her anyway.  I was sure that she just needed to rest, and that she’d be okay after a nice long nap.  She sang with me for a little while.  But…” Bella gripped her sleeves tighter, her whole body shaking now.  “I remember her watching me the whole time.  Her eyes were getting heavier, and she squeezed my hand.  Eventually, she closed her eyes, and her hand went limp.  And I knew she was gone."

“Bella...”

“But I kept on singing.  I sang every song I knew… for hours and hours, until I my throat ran dry and I lost my voice.  And I guess, in a way, I never got it back – not really.”  She hiccupped and wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeves furiously.

“I’m so sorry,” Thorin said after allowing her a moment to regain some composure.  “Not only for the loss of your parents, which I understand all too well, but also for the callous way we’ve all been acting… for pressuring you into a matter which causes you pain.”

Bella uncurled her body and sighed, leaning the side of her face against the door again.  “There’s no need to apologize.  I didn’t tell you, so obviously you wouldn’t have known.  And I have gotten better.  You’ve heard me hum and sing a little.  It’s just… it wasn’t the same.  There was no meaning to it anymore.”

Thorin’s voice seemed closer when he spoke again.  Bella guessed he shifted more towards her on the other side.  “I’m glad you told me,” he admitted.  “But we need not speak of this again, if you don’t wish it.  And once we’re out of here, I will tell the others to leave you be.”

“Don’t do that,” Bella insisted.  “I didn’t tell you all this so you’d feel sorry for me or because I wanted to be left alone.  It’s really quite the opposite.”

She placed her hand on the door, wishing she could feel him.  She wanted to touch him, to assure him of the truth of what she was about to say.  “Thorin, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t somewhat proud my abilities or my voice.  I think I’m actually pretty good, by hobbit standards anyway.  But in reality, I sang out of the love for my parents, not for vanity of the act itself.  After they died, I didn’t feel like I had a _reason_ to sing.  So there wasn’t any point in trying.  I still had friends and distant relatives, other people I cared for, but it wasn’t the same.  I closed off my heart from ever loving too deeply, and that silenced any song I might have had.”

Bella pressed herself to the door even closer, and finally smiled again.  “But things are different now.  I have you, and the rest of the Company.  You have become dearer to me than my own kind and kin.  I love all of you.  I miss the Shire, but I am happier and more at home in the Company than I have felt since my parents died.  And lately, I find myself _wanting_ to sing again, for the love and joy that I have found with you.”

“Bella, I…”  Thorin fell silent, seemingly unsure of how to respond.  At last, he murmured, “Thank you.  I will be blessed indeed, if you should one day gift me with your song.  But I will wait until you are ready.”

She grinned a little wider.  “Thank _you_ ,” she replied, “for listening.  I do feel much better now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Their conversation ceased.  The romantic in Bella wondered if Thorin was pressed to the door as she was, his hand searching for a ghost of hers against the solid surface.

A sudden deafening clang down the hall brought them both out of their calm companionship.

Bella jumped to her feet and put on the Ring.  “The guards are returning.  I must go, but I will be back again tomorrow.  Hopefully, I’ll have more promising news,” she whispered.  “Any messages I should pass on?”

“None for the others.  Just be safe,” Thorin answered.

“Don’t worry about me.  Everything’s going to be alright; I’m going to figure this out, Thorin.”

Bella crept away without waiting for any final remarks and made her way back up the stairs.  With any luck, the last of the Elvenking’s court would have finished eating, and she could pilfer a snack before finding a place to get some sleep.

She felt a great deal lighter in body and mood as she snuck down the halls that had lately become so familiar to her.  Confiding her worries to Thorin had acted as a balm for her heavy heart, and she found that it had translated into a sense of optimism for the rest of her endeavors.  She _would_ find a way to free her friends, and hopefully the quest would continue without further incident.      

Perhaps it was foolish of her to think so, but the euphoria of releasing her grief made her feel she could accomplish anything… even steal a company of dwarves from elvish dungeons, confront a dragon, or sing for her beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	8. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dissonance - harsh, discordant, and lack of harmony; also a chord that sounds incomplete until it resolves itself on a harmonious chord

Thorin walked alone beneath the moonlit sky, his thoughts heavy with the coming days.  He was making his way back to the house provided for his Company by the Master of Laketown, where most of his companions had long since retired for the night.  Only a few days remained before they would leave to begin the final stage of their journey, and they all needed to be fully rested and well prepared for whatever awaited them.

As he neared the mansion (at least compared to most of the other houses), he saw that a light still shone through the slit of the drawn curtains.  If he had to guess, Bella was probably waiting up for him.  She had refused to participate in the Master’s pretentious celebrations, apart from the feast.  In fact, she had been quiet and distant with everyone, including, or more likely, _especially_ with Thorin.

He hesitated at the door of the house, wondering what sort of reception he might receive for his return.  After a moment, he shook his head, berating himself for cowering like a dwarfling, and entered with his usual poise.

The house did not possess an entrance hall.  Much like Beorn’s dwelling, the front door opened right into one large area that served as a sitting room, dining area and kitchen all in one.  A staircase in one corner led up a second floor with six bedrooms and a bathroom, though the toilet was in an outhouse outside.

In the living area, there were two armchairs with small tables beside them, several sitting cushions scattered around the floor, and a long wooden bench padded with plush pillows.  These were arranged in a semi-circle facing a stone fireplace, and a warm blaze crackled and flickered in golden wisps within.  The fire was well tended, yet only one person sat before it.

As he had expected, Bella was curled in one of the armchairs.  Her legs were tucked up beneath her and she had a thin blanket wrapped around her body.  One hand cradled a steaming mug while the other fingered some small, concealed object.  Her face was turned towards the flames, so he could not see her face.

She must have heard him enter, but she did not greet him or turn around.  The silence stretched between them as Thorin considered his options.

At last, he asked, “Are you… still angry with me?”

“That depends,” she said immediately.  “Do you still think I’d betray you?”

Thorin groaned, but his frustration was aimed at himself.  He trudged towards her and plopped down on the cushioned bench.  “No….”

“You don’t sound too sure,” she whispered, her voice despondent.

He lifted his eyes away from the floor to look at her, and he almost forgot the tense conversation.

Bella had caught a nasty cold during the barrel escape from Mirkwood and had spent the first days of their stay in Laketown bedridden.  She hadn’t exactly been the picture of beauty during her recovery (not that anyone else would look any better).  She’d stayed burrowed beneath a mound of blankets and furs, covered in sweat and mucus, her hair in a tangled mess, and her eyes bloodshot from stress and sleep deprivation.  The Company had been almost overeager in their desire to take care of her, but it seemed to wear her out more.  Eventually, she snapped and refused to let anyone come near her, except for Óin when he brought her medicine and soup.

Between that, and negotiating with the Master for provisions, Thorin hadn’t been able to pursue their relationship further.  Her disheveled appearance and cranky attitude didn’t make him love her any less, but he wisely kept his distance when she demanded that everyone leave her alone so that she could rest.

But now she was healthy and whole, freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes borrowed from a Laketown youth.  She was no longer flushed with fever, but there was still a rosy glow to her cheeks from the fire.  Her curly tresses were free and flowing around her shoulders, having grown remarkably long over the course of the journey.  Hobbit hair, she had once told him, grew very fast.  Yet in the Shire, she had kept it short, after the manner of her male kin, once she had passed the usual marrying age of her kind.  Fortunately, for Thorin at least, she had not packed the proper tools to cut it and had been forced to simply tie it back.  

Oh, how he longed to run his fingers through those silky strands!  Ever since they declared their love in the Elvenking’s dungeons, he had wanted to plait her hair with a marriage braid, one that would be interwoven with golden silk thread and tied with jeweled beads.  He would teach her how to braid his in turn, and when it was done, he would finally taste her lips and hold her unrestricted.

“Thorin?” she interrupted his thoughts.

He regarded her with hungry eyes.  “Forgive me… I seem to have lost my focus.”  When she tilted her head in a gesture to continue, he said, “I have never seen you with your hair down like that before.  And we have not spent any time alone since our arrival here.  I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are.”

He could see from her blush that she was pleased by the compliment, yet she glowered at him.  “If you think such flattery will cause me to forget your cruel words from this afternoon, you are quite delusional,” she responded sharply.

Thorin tried to tell her that it was an honest expression of his feelings, that he was not trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation, but there must have been something either in his words or expression that caused her to snap.

“While you and Balin were busy at the market getting supplies and making arrangements with the Master most of the day, I merely thought to pass the time by visiting Bard.  He was very good to us after all, and we have done little to repay him.  But when I tried to explain this to you earlier, you accused me of betraying your confidence with him!  Do you truly think so little of me?”

“It’s not… I didn’t…”

“Which of my actions caused you doubt me?” Bella sneered.  “When I saved you from a horde of monstrous spiders?  Or how about when I rescued you from Thranduil’s dungeons?  Or perhaps it was the other day, when I vouched for your honor before the people of Laketown?”  Her voice rose in volume and pitch during her tirade.

Thorin frowned, his own temper rising at the implication.  “You think that I am not grateful, for all that you have done for us... for me?”

“Well if you are, you certainly have a funny way of showing it,” Bella retorted.  Her expression turned haughty as she mimicked his low voice.  ‘ _Well!  Here we are! And I suppose we ought to thank our stars and Miss Baggins.  I am sure she has a right to expect it, though I wish she could have arranged a more comfortable journey._ ”  She set her mug on the side table next to her, shoved whatever she was playing with into a coat pocket, and crossed her arms, huffing.  “If you must know, that is one of the _other_ reasons I went to talk to Bard.  I understood how he felt, considering how quickly we exchanged his kindness for the Master’s richer accommodations.  None of you made any effort to show him appreciation for helping us enter Laketown.”

“You think it was kindness that persuaded him to assist us?” Thorin roared.  His hands clenched into fists.  “We _paid_ him for his services, and it was far more than he deserved.  Men are motivated by greed, and he was no different.”

“Are you truly so blind?  Have you not looked around the city?” Bella shouted back.  “Did you not see the state of Bard’s house, or his clothes?  Or notice how thin and starved his children were?  Who in their right mind would refuse pay, even for an illegal venture, if it meant providing for his family?  Didn’t you once tell me that _you_ had struggled for the sake of _your_ family, following the fall of Erebor?  I would have thought that such experiences would have made you more compassionate for the plight of others.”

Thorin hesitated at that, pierced by a twinge of shame.  He did indeed know the great lengths one might go for loved ones, but he hardened his heart when he remembered how well he was helped in his youth. “I showed them the same measure of compassion that was shown to us.”

“That was one or two generations ago!  These people are not the same ones who turned you away.”

Thorin stood up and glowered down at her.  “You are the sheltered child of a protected realm,” he said slowly, as though she really was a child.  “You know nothing of men.  They do not change.”

She sprang to her feet as well.  “Neither do dwarves, it seems.  You are still the same rude, condescending, hard-headed arse that insulted me in my own home!  It makes me wonder why I agreed to this quest to begin with!”

She had expressed similar views of his person long ago, but she had not said such things since their courtship started.  He was by no means thrilled by her slights to his character (even if he could grudgingly admit that there might be was some truth to them), but the last part of her statement stalled his rage.  

“Do you... regret coming with us?” he asked haltingly.

Bella looked away from him.  “Sometimes,” she admitted.

She still sounded furious, and Thorin’s mind began to race with other possibilities.  “And are there other things you regret?”

“Like what?”

Thorin took a tentative step closer to her, his anger fading to fear.  “Like… us?”

Bella immediately snapped her gaze back to him, searching his face.  He did not guard himself against her, though he had to fight his wounded pride to do so.

It was only then that he noticed something strange in her, like a shadow clouding her eyes.  But as soon as he saw it, she shook her head and it cleared.

“What?  No!  No, Thorin – not at all!”  Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, surprising him with the change. “What would make you think that?”

Thorin gently forced her away, just enough so that she could read his disbelief.  “First, you choose to confide in and seek the companionship of the bowman instead of the Company, and then you insult me and say you are sorry you came on this journey.  What other conclusions could I draw?”

Bella wrinkled her nose.  “PERHAPS - that I went to visit a friend with whom I share similar views, that I let my mouth run away from me in my anger, and finally, that much has happened that I wish had not.”  She smiled a little.  “You drive me crazy sometimes, my love, and we are bound to have arguments.  We are very different creatures, after all.  But that does not mean that my heart has changed.”

She took his hand, led him back to the bench and gestured for him to sit by her side. They both settled themselves; Thorin remained stiff and resisting, but Bella pulled her legs under her and reclined towards him.

He was still irritated, but the feel of her hand  in his - so warm and soft - eventually began to calm him.

“Let’s take a deep breath, okay?”  She did just that, and he mirrored her.  “There.  Now let’s try to talk this out calmly.”  She took another breath.  “First of all, tell me this  – why were you so upset that I went to speak with Bard?  And do take your time, if you need a moment to think about it.”

Thorin took her advice and considered the best way to explain his reason.  “I suppose… it was because we had been apart for so long.  First, there was my incarceration in Mirkwood, and then your illness when we arrived here.  There is much I wish to discuss with you, and the days are growing so short for us.  I had hoped to spend as much time with you as possible before we embark for the mountain.  When Óin told me you were finally well, I was overjoyed, for I have longed for you.  But instead, I returned to find you away, with a man who would hinder our journey if he could.”

“So you were worried, and perhaps a little jealous maybe?” Bella concluded.  She squeezed his hand and edged a little closer to him.  “I’m sorry, Thorin.  I guess it _was_ insensitive of me; I didn’t consider how you must have felt.”  

She leaned against him to rest her head on his shoulder, causing Thorin to involuntarily sigh.

“I missed you too, more than you know.  And it makes me so happy that you want to be with me.”  She tilted her face up.  “But even so, I do not appreciate having my own honor called into question.  I trust Bard, but I would never reveal the Company’s secrets to him, or to anyone else.  ”

“I know.  I am sorry,” Thorin murmured. He reached up slowly to caress her cheek with his free hand.  “But you should know by now that in this, at least, I have confessed myself very selfish, Bella.  I do not wish to share you with anyone.”

To his disappointment, she sat up again.  She placed both of her hands on either side of his face.  “Surely you must know that only _you_ have my heart.  I love you, and I will love no other.”  She leaned forward and bowed his head to kiss him on the forehead.  “I think you mean well, and perhaps if I were a dwarrowdam, I would swoon to be regarded so fiercely.  But I am a hobbit, and to hear you speak thus makes me feel as though I am an object to be horded, not a person with thoughts and feelings and a will of my own.”

Thorin couldn’t precisely make sense of this.  How could she ever believe he would think of her in such a way?  “That is not my intent at all.”  He smiled tenderly and removed her hands from his face.  He pressed a kiss to each palm.  “You are my One Bella; there is no one who will care for you or regard you higher than I.”

“Then why do you grow so unbearably possessive when I interact with others?”  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you with everything that I am.  It is everyone else I am suspicious of.”  He pulled her in a tight embrace and buried his face in her curls.  “I do not want any harm to come to you.  I could not bear to lose you.”

He felt more than heard her sad sigh.  “Oh, Thorin.  Loss is a part of life.  We both know that.  But perhaps it would ease your cares to know this - there are only two things which could part me from you: either death must claim me, or you yourself must send me away.  And in both cases, you will still find that I will not be far beyond your reach.”

It made him smile to hear her use his own oft-repeated phrase, but it did not lighten his heart to think of metaphorical nearness.  He pulled her even closer so that she was nearly in his lap.

She didn’t seem to mind.  In fact, she maneuvered her own arms around him and relaxed her head against his chest.

It was strange, in a way.  If anyone should have asked him in the days before he met Bella, Thorin would have insisted that Erebor was the only place that would ever be home to him.  Though the Blue Mountains had prospered under his reign, and the exiled dwarves of Erebor had increased in might and population, it had never reached the splendor and majesty of the realm he remembered.

Erebor had been a place of peace and prosperity, and the place that held his earliest memories.  It was a wonder wherein halls gleamed with golden light, and mines held gems that shone like starlight.  It was the forges where iron was beaten into forms deadly and beautiful, and the armory where blades gleamed like the sun on snow.

It was the rooms where he played with Dis and Frerin, and the chair where his mother sat as she recited stories and sang him to sleep.  It was the writing desk where his father sketched out designs for new halls, weapons, or other trinkets.  It was a golden harp, and the feel of his grandmother’s fingers guiding his along the strings.

Home was the throne where his grandfather sat, ruling his kingdom with a firm but fair hand, and a love for his people that burned hotter than dragon fire.

It was the Arkenstone, a divine gift from Mahal himself, and Thorin’s birthright.

But now...

Bella shifted in his arms to look up at him.  “Thorin?  What are you thinking about?”

He lifted his head to smile down at her.  “Many things have occupied my thoughts of late, but nothing captivates them more than you, my love.”  Reluctantly, he released his hold on her and leaned back a little to create more space.  “But… there is something I have been meaning to ask you,” he mumbled seriously.

“Oh?”  She tilted her head and flashed a playful grin.  “And what is that?”

He looked into her eyes and inquired, “Have you given thought to what you will do, when the quest is over?”

Her answer came more quickly than he would have predicted.  “In all honesty, I have stopped myself from thinking too far ahead.  A dragon yet lies in our future, and it is too big for me to see beyond it.”

Thorin halted at that, his courage faltering a moment.  He had been so preoccupied with figuring out how to pose the question of his deepest desire that he forgot to factor Smaug into his calculations.  But there were still several days before that problem needed solving, so he pressed on undeterred.  “Surely, you’ve thought of it a little.  Is it still your desire to return to your books and your armchair?”

“Well, I...”

“Because we have those in Erebor, you know,” he interrupted.  He groaned at the amused quirk of her eyebrow.  “That is… what I mean to say is…”  He glared at his trembling hands, searching for the words he had long rehearsed during his imprisonment in Mirkwood.  Of course he would forget them now, when the timing was right and he needed them most!

He was startled when Bella reached over and put her hand to his cheek once again.  Then, holding his gaze, she allowed her fingers to trail through his hair, brushing them back to comb the strands framing his face, behind his ear, and finally capturing one of his braids and holding it lightly.

Thorin shivered when her nails scraped against his scalp, and nearly gulped at her sultry expression.  She knew very well that for dwarves, touching one’s hair was only meant for families and lovers.  She had said with her actions what he was desperately trying to say aloud, and knowing this gave him courage.

“Stay, Bella.  Stay in Erebor, with me.  Be my queen, and I will make Erebor a home worthy of you.  I will love you always, and anything you desire will be yours.”  He wasn’t one to beg for anything; it was well below what his pride would allow, but he would humble himself for her.  He leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers, and closed his eyes.  “Please.  We dwarves cannot bear to live without our Ones, once we have found them.  And you are mine, Bella.  Say you will stay and marry me.”

He heard her breath hitch.  “Are you sure?  You must tell me if you have any doubt at all, Thorin.  As I said before, we are very different creatures, and there will be times when we will have to work hard to be patient with one another.  If you are not willing…”

“I am,” he insisted.  “I told you; you are my One.”

Bella gave his braid, which she had not released, a sharp tug.  He winced, and they separated.

“That’s all well and good, but I’m afraid that this is one of those moments where you must try to understand me, Thorin.  I know that dwarves believe in soulmates – Ones – as you call it.  And perhaps it is true, and romantic in its own way.  But hobbits, like myself, do not put too much stock in such things.”

Thorin frowned, frustration igniting his temper again, but she soothed him by running her fingers through his hair again.

“Before you get huffy, please hear me out.”  She took a deep breath.  “I think maybe there is some agreement with us, in that we believe that you cannot necessarily choose who or what you fall in love with.  It just seems to happen, often at very inopportune times.”  She traded a knowing smile with him.  “Perhaps in that way, we _might_ be destined for one person, but that does not mean we are duty bound to them.  That is why hobbits more or less believe that there is _some_ choice to love, because there will be hard times that require sacrifice, and a conscious decision to stay together, no matter what.”

“I don’t understand,” Thorin said.

Bella let go of him and sighed.  “I love you, Thorin.  But I must know: do you love me because you think you must?  And will you still love me when I am being difficult or stubborn, or when we can’t agree?  Will you love me when I am an old crone with white hair and a shriveled body?”

Considering how the night began, or even thinking back to the early days of the quest, it was a valid question.  They didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, and she was right in that they already had to work very hard to explain themselves and listen to one another.  And if they were to spend their lives together, they would have to continue to do so.

Thorin did not have to think on it long.  “Bella,” he said, taking her hands, “You are the most infuriating, the whiniest, and the fussiest thing I have ever met.  To borrow your own words from earlier – you drive me crazy, sometimes, my love.  But you are also kind and fierce and beautiful.  I know that we have our differences, but it causes me to love you more, not less.  Only death, or some fit of madness, would cause me to do anything that would make you doubt it.  And if you will allow it, I will gladly spend the rest of my days showing you the depths of it.

“For so long, my only passion - my only purpose - in this life, was taking back Erebor, of reclaiming my home.  And though that is still my dream, I have also found a _new_ home, in you.  All the warmth and comfort, that sense of _belonging_... it is in your arms that I feel it most.  My life may go on, but it would be dull and bereft without you.  So I will ask you again: will you stay in Erebor?  Will you marry me, Bella Baggins?”  

At first, she looked away, seeming to deliberate, but then she blushed and giggled softly.  “Well... when you put it like that…”  Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck.  “Of course I’ll stay and marry you, you silly dwarf!  I just needed to be sure you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

Thorin didn’t bother to try and hide his silly grin.  “I rarely consider the consequences I’ve what I’m doing,” he remarked.

“So I’ve noticed.”  

Unable to wait any longer, Thorin pushed Bella back, chuckling at her pout.  Then he reached into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved a spare bead.  “Traditionally, I would carve one of these myself and adorn it with runes and jewels that would most fit your character.  But as I do not yet have the proper tools and materials, this will have to do for now.”  He held it up to show her.  “May I braid this into your hair?”

“That is what you use to signal an engagement?”  When he nodded, she gave her consent.

He instructed her to move into a comfortable position so that he could easily access the left side of her head.  She laid her head in his lap and fanned her hair out across his thighs so that he could do whatever he wished with it.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, hardly daring to believe his good fortune.  He had resigned himself to living out his life alone, the love for his craft and position taking the place of a companion.  And even when his feelings for Bella began to blossom, it had taken much to convince his heart to hope to win hers.  It all seemed like a pleasant dream, but one that might finally replace years of lonely nightmares.

“You do not know how long I have wished for this,” he told her, his hand reverently hovering over her hair.

Bella crossed her arms.  “So you say,” she said, making a disatisfied face, “yet you seem in no hurry to get on with it.”

Thorin chuckled.  “Forgive me for wishing to savor this moment.”  But he gave in to her impatience and began to comb his fingers through the splayed strands.

It was even softer than he imagined; his thick digits flowed through her hair as effortlessly as water, and it almost seemed to glow in the firelight.  Bella’s eyes fluttered closed at his light touch, and she hummed in contentment.

He took his time, enjoying both the feel of it and the intimacy of the act, while absently singing a dwarven balled, fully aware of how much she enjoyed it.  When he was satisfied that he had removed any tangles that might hinder his work, he separated a section of hair and started to twist the strands into the marriage braid, plaiting it in such a way that it would rest securely behind her left ear.

Bella whimpered and squirmed whenever his fingers brushed her pointed ear.  It made him grin wolfishly, though she couldn’t see it, and he committed the knowledge to memory for later use.

Far too soon, he completed the braid and secured it with his bead.  Bella opened her eyes and reached up to feel it the unfamiliar twist.  

She sat up and turned around to face him again.  “How does it look?” she asked nervously.

Thorin couldn’t think of any words, either in Western or Khuzdul to adequately describe what he saw and felt.  Instead, he yanked her to him and covered her lips with his.  

He hadn’t meant to be so rough.  Even though Bella had insisted many times that she was not helpless or delicate, he could not help handling and cherishing her as precious beyond measure.  Yet at the same time, his desire for her drove him to the brink of madness, so much so that his body and soul ached to claim her, to give in to long suppressed hopes and cravings.

Alarmed by his lack of self-control, Thorin started to back away as quickly as he’d rushed in, but Bella did not let him.  She climbed into his lap to straddle him, and her arms came up to snake around his neck.  She matched his fervor, kissing him with a passion that he hadn’t known (but perhaps should have guessed) a proper, gentle hobbit could possess.

Unfortunately, the need for air forced them to separate, but they remained attached to one another, foreheads and noses pressed together as they panted.

“Well...” Bella murmured.  “That answers that question.  I was wondering when or if you would EVER kiss me.”

Thorin responded by granting her a chaste peck on both of her cheeks.  “It was not for lack of desire that prevented me, love.  My kind simply do not give of themselves until we have secured a betrothal.”

“I see.  I wish you had told me that sooner.  It would have saved me a great deal of doubt.”  She paled.  “And embarrassment.  I’ve kissed _you_ before.  Have I committed a grave offense in doing so?”

Thorin shrugged ruefully.  “You have done nothing wrong.  You were acting on your own experiences.  Forgive me.  I had not thought to explain.  But if it makes you feel better, know that I am more than willing to make up for lost time.”

“In a moment,” Bella interjected.    She leaned back to see his face better.  “I have a question first: am I not meant to craft a bead and braid your hair as well?”

Thorin nodded.  “Usually, yes, that would be the case.”

She looked a little downcast.  “That may present a problem.  I can braid well enough, but I lack the skills to make _any_ such trinkets.”

Thorin hugged her and carded a hand through her hair.  “Do not distress yourself over it.  I can make the beads for both of us.”

“I thought so, but I want to honor the customs of your people whenever possible.”

“As do I.”  Thorin considered the matter.  “Perhaps,” he thought aloud slowly, “we can compromise.  Didn’t you once tell me that _your_ people exchange homemade blended oils and anoint one another during marriage ceremonies?”

Bella glanced up in surprise.  “You remembered!” she gasped, sounding delighted.

Thorin threw her a mock glare.  “Of course I did.  More to the point, I myself do not have a talent for growing things, as you do.  Perhaps we could bend the rules, yet combine our traditions.  I will forge our marriage beads, and you can prepare the anointing oils.  That way, we can both use our respective abilities while fulfilling the rituals of our kind.”

“A very sensible suggestion,” Bella concurred.  “Very well.”  She relaxed in his arms, but her countenance remained thoughtful.  “Are we meant to give other gifts as well?”

Thorin had hoped that the time for discussion was over.  He could think a much better activity for his mouth to engage in apart from debating formalities.  

“It is a common practice, but not strictly necessary.”  He took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, lavishing every inch of it.  “Must we continue speaking?  I’m afraid that my mind has strayed rather far from coherent thought.”

Bella heaved a dramatic and exasperated sigh, but the effect was lessened by her widened eyes and the way her body shook against him.  “Just one more thing, Thorin...”

He did not cease his ministrations, now slowly kissing a path further up her wrist.  “Yes?” he whispered against her skin.

Bella twisted her hand from his grasp.  “Please listen.  It’s important.”

Thorin stilled at the despondency of her tone.  “What is it?”

There was a flash of both sadness and fear in her lovely features, but she exhaled heavily, and determination replaced them.  “I know you would rather not think on it, but we must face the reality that Smaug remains a significant barrier between us and our goal.  And while we cannot yet guess what will happen in the coming days, I would offer you a promise.”

“What sort of promise?”

She looked away from him.  Her hands trailed from his shoulders to play with the collar of his tunic nervously.  “I... for a while now, I’ve been working on something - a gift - as it were.”

“Have you?”  Thorin was having difficulty concentrating on her words, when her fingers kept brushing the exposed skin of his neck and the top of his chest.

She nodded.  “Throughout our journey, you’ve asked me time and again if I would sing for you.  And though I’ve told you my reasons for withholding, I want to grant your wish.”  Her eyes flicked to his.  “I’ve written you a song.”

Thorin was speechless and fully attentive.  Neither of them had spoken of that since the day she had revealed the motive behind her silence.  As much as he longed to hear her, and perhaps meld their respective abilities one day, he had resigned himself to the thought that she may never share that part of herself with him.

“Are you sure?” he asked.  “You need not force yourself to do anything you are not comfortable with.”

Bella kissed him tenderly.  “I know.  And while there always be some grief in the act, I _want_ to do this.  You have given me love and hope, Thorin, and my heart cannot help wanting to sing for the joy I feel.”  Her countenance became serious and grim again.  “But I will not sing it now.  I want to wait until the dragon is defeated, and you have taken your rightful place on the throne of Erebor.  That is why it is a promise; no matter what awaits us in the mountain, we must both do whatever is necessary to survive the day.  I must live to give you my song, and you must live to hear it.”  

Thorin touched his forehead to hers.   “It is a worthy goal, and an honor I do not deserve.  Nonetheless, I will hold to _our_ promise.”

“Ours,” Bella repeated.  

As though of one mind, their lips met.  And there was no more talking after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by! Kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> To be continued...


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